


Won’t Stop

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Predator or prey, the hunt is never over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won’t Stop

In Purgatory, the fight is never over, the break never comes.

Dean’s constantly on the move, and instead of doing the smart thing and moving _away_ from the monsters around him like anyone who values their own life would, he actively searches them out, asking about Cas, then getting rid of their bodies when they tell him everything there is to tell.

It’s a never-ending cycle.

There’s always another prey, another throat to cut, another head to chop off, another heart to stab through.

There’s always another predator, another blow to dodge, another blade to parry, another fanged mouth to smash with a fist.

Most days, Dean comes out of the fights as the victor, either because he’s that good, or because they underestimate him, or maybe because he’s just lucky.

Of course, some days, he’s not. A fang or a claw or a jagged blade finds its way through Dean’s defenses, tearing, bruising, damaging flesh and inflicting pain, leaving scars. But it doesn’t matter. He won’t stop looking.

 

*

 

Dean pulls out his knife from the shifter’s heart and wipes the dark blood on the monster’s sleeve. He starts to rise when he hears something moving behind his back, but before he has any time to react, something hard and heavy hits him on the back of his head. As he falls down, darkness swallowing him slowly, he thinks, “That’s it. I’m dead.”

But strangely, he’s not. He wakes up to the feeling of having his hands pulled behind his back and tied together with something, maybe a rope, maybe a piece of cloth, who the hell cares. Whoever attacked him is right behind him, kneeling on Dean’s legs to keep him down as he tightens the knots around Dean’s wrists until they’re digging into his flesh and cutting of his circulation.

“Get off me,” Dean growls, but the only response he gets is a low chuckle. He realizes something's really off about this – why would his attacker want to keep him alive? Usually it’s _him_ doing the tying up and asking questions. “What do you want?”

“Well, I realize this might sound kinda cheesy,” his unknown attacker speaks for the first time and Dean wishes he could turn his head to look the monster in the face, but when he attempts to move a large hand presses his face back into the ground. “I heard about you, you know. A human in Purgatory. And I thought to myself, I could really use some human touch.”

“The fuck?” It comes out grumbled because of the decaying leaves and mud that’s gotten into his mouth. He tries to spit it out, unsuccessfully.

The son of a bitch chuckles again. “See, now you’re getting it.” His weight disappears from Dean’s legs and Dean immediately uses the opportunity to roll to his back, but before he can do more the guy is on him again, pinning him down with his weight. “I haven’t felt warm, human flesh under my hands in _years_.”

Dean can’t tell what kind of a monster this guy is, he looks normal at first sight – average build, average height, average face… definitely not average strength, though. Dean probably wouldn’t be able to buck him off even if his hands weren’t tied behind his back.

He still tries to, though, when the guy’s hands move to Dean’s pants, unbuckling the belt. “Hell no!”

“Yes,” the bastard grins, easily holding Dean’s upper body down with one hand while the other works on pulling down his zipper. “Be a good boy and I might even let you live.”

If looks could kill, the guy would be kebab now. “Screw you,” Dean spits at him, fear and panic transforming into anger and defiance because that’s just how he’s wired, how he works. That’s why he’s still alive. Action instead of paralyzed inactivity. Fight instead of surrender.

The sick fucker gets off him just long enough to pull Dean’s jeans and boxers down, leaving them tangled around his knees, which only serves to further restrict Dean’s movement. Great. Then he’s being turned around again, face down in the dirt, naked ass up in the air and the guy’s cold fingers on his skin.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” Dean threatens, because he’s not going to beg. “I’ll rip you to shreds.”

The fingers press into him roughly, two at once, and Dean cries out, more from anger than pain, because pain is a constant here, pain he knows, pain he can deal with.

Or maybe not. The fingers are soon replaced by something bigger, thicker, relentlessly pushing in, and it’s like liquid fire, like Alastair’s daggers, splitting him open, tearing him apart from the inside. He howls, overcome with the agony, the helplessness. The sound echoes off the trees and rocks around them, mocking him.

“Not so loud, human,” the monster pants out. “Don’t want anyone else to hear you, do we? If the others come, I’ll have to share you.”

No way. Dean bites into his lip hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood, but he keeps his screams inside. He’s not done fighting, though. Just as soon as he feels the guy’s guard going down a little, he starts struggling again.

“Stop that,” the son of a bitch orders, and when Dean doesn’t, he fists one hand in Dean’s hair, pulling his head back at an awkward angle. “Threats not working on you? How about promises, then? You let me have a good time and I’ll tell you about that angel of yours you’re looking for.”

Even though Dean knows this could be just a trick to keep him docile, he can’t risk losing any possible info on Cas. He stops struggling, forcing his body to go loose and unresisting. It's not easy, it just isn't in him to stop fighting, but it's what he has to do now and so eventually he manages.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” The fucker resumes his thrusting, fast and deep, fingers buried into the flesh of Dean’s waist, forehead resting on Dean’s back, pushing his face deeper into the ground.

The leaves and pebbles are digging into Dean’s skin, the sharp stones cutting small scratches all over him, and he concentrates on that, on the little pains, on the smell of dead leaves, on the taste of blood and dirt on his tongue. The rest doesn’t matter.

It feels like forever until the guy comes with a choked shout. He pulls out and stands to do up his pants and Dean immediately rolls to his back, scrambling away from him, searching for his knife, for a stick or a large stone, anything he could use as a weapon. He finds nothing, his knife kicked away, too far for him to reach in time.

“You were definitely worth it,” the monster tells him with a content sigh. He walks over to pick up Dean’s knife and again, Dean thinks he’s going to be killed. But the guy just stabs the blade into a fallen tree nearby. “If we were topside, I’d throw you a couple of bills to pay for your services.” He laughs at Dean’s outraged snarl and shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to show my appreciation another way. That winged boy you’re searching for? I heard they’ve seen him two days ago, down the river, by the caves.”

If he’s waiting for Dean to thank him, he’s gonna have to wait until Hell freezes over.

“Fine,” the guy laughs when all Dean does is glare at him. “See you around, pretty boy.” He sends an air kiss in Dean’s direction and turns around, running away at a brisk pace.

Dean pushes himself to shaky legs and with his pants still around his knees, he wobbles to where the fucker left his knife buried in that tree trunk.

When his bounds are cut and he’s fully dressed again, knife clutched tightly in hand, he’s faced with a dilemma. The rapist son of a bitch left just a while ago and even though he’s definitely not stupid and he’s surely covering his tracks, Dean knows he could hunt him down, make him pay, make him _scream_ for what he did. And God, he wants to.

But on the other hand there’s Cas: lost, alone, possibly still off his rocker, defenseless.

Throwing one last hateful glance in the direction in which that bastard disappeared, Dean turns and walks the other way, towards the river, towards the caves.

He doesn’t find his angel at the place the guy mentioned, but that doesn’t matter. He won’t stop looking.

 

*

 

They meet again, a few months later, but this time it’s Dean who has the power. He even has backup – a little aside, Benny stands guard, watchful and silent.

The monster guy looks like he’s thinking about trying to bolt, but he must realize he doesn’t stand a chance against the two of them. “Huh. You couldn’t find your angel so you team up with a vampire?” He’s trying to sound casual, flippant, but he’s not pulling it off very well. “Why’d you decide to help him?” He directs his question at Benny, who just shrugs and doesn’t answer. “He letting you fuck him too? Guess that tight ass of his is reason enough to stick around.”

Over one shoulder, Dean throws a quick glance at Benny who holds his gaze, steady, calm, no disgust, no judgment. Dean really appreciates that about Benny – he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t raise eyebrows, doesn’t make doubtful comments. He just lets Dean do his job without getting in his way.

“Have you seen the angel?” Dean asks and hears Benny chuckle behind him. He understands why the vampire’s laughing – this must probably be Dean’s most repeated sentence down here in Purgatory. Maybe he should make it into a t-shirt.

“No, haven’t seen him, haven’t even heard of him lately,” the guy replies quickly, eyes jumping between Dean and Benny. He still thinks he has a chance of getting out of this alive. It’s cute.

“You sure?” Dean resettles his grip on the huge blade he uses now. The question is purely rhetorical though, he can tell when they’re lying to him and when not.

This guy is useless. They’re only losing time with him here.

A quick lunge, a swing of an arm, a scream ending in a gargle, and a headless body hits the ground.

Dean wipes the blood off the blade on the guy’s pant leg and stands up. “C’mon, Benny. Let’s go.”

It’s been almost a year since he landed in Monsterland and so far the closest he’d gotten to Cas was missing him by a couple of days several months ago, but that doesn’t matter. He won’t stop looking.


End file.
